Need
by Gmariam
Summary: OWEN: Don't compare yourself to me. You're just a tea boy. IANTO: I'm much more than that. Jack needs me. OWEN: In your dreams, Ianto. In your sad wet dreams when you're his part-time shag, maybe. Nine ways in which Jack might have needed Ianto, and the one in which he actually did.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

I.

"Move, move, move!" Ianto shouted in his face, spit flying everywhere and mingling with Jack's sweat. "Pick up those feet and run, dammit!"

It was worse than being in the army. Both times. Ianto Jones was a taskmaster of the worst sort, pushing Jack harder than he'd ever been pushed. And he'd lived through two World Wars, not to mention over a hundred years of Torchwood. Which was after he'd traveled across the galaxy, visiting dozens of planets over the course of several years, two of which had been spent in a mind-numbing time loop with John Hart.

Yet Ianto Jones, personal trainer, was nothing compared to his weapons instructor in the Time Agency. Or Emily Holroyd of Torchwood Three. Or his platoon leader in boot camp. Or the two guys who'd been about to execute him that time on—

"Come on, you fucking nancy, lift those knees like your life depends on it!"

Which it clearly didn't. Sometimes Jack wanted to accidentally kill himself to get out of another workout, but he was fairly sure Ianto would be standing over him, still shouting, when he revived. Hell, he'd probably have a bucket of ice water ready to dump on Jack to wake him up faster, and then he'd put Jack right back on the treadmill, or the elliptical, or the weight machines, shouting obscenities the entire time.

When Jack had found Ianto working out in the small exercise room in the Hub late one night, he'd thought it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. So he'd joined him. And he'd been so out of shape compared to Ianto that he'd asked Ianto to help him out, thinking it was a good way to spend more time with the attractive Welshman, and Jack was pretty sure there would be sex. Eventually.

And he'd been right, there had had sex, and quickly, but as great as the sex was, sometimes he wondered if it was worth the brutal workouts. He didn't need to be in gold medal shape, he only needed to be able to run down aliens a few times a week. And he didn't need mind-blowing sex every day, he just wanted a good shag now and—

No, strike that. He needed the sex, which meant he needed the exercise, which meant he needed Ianto Jones.

He just hoped he survived another workout.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

II.

Of course Jack was addicted to sex. Had been for years, decades even. There had been times when he'd managed fine, other times when he'd struggled both physically and mentally, disgust and shame almost overwhelming during his nightly visits to the local clubs and parks. But it had been a long time since those dark lows, and when he'd taken over Torchwood, so much of his energy had been directed toward basic survival that he hadn't had much time for anything more than occasional sex for much needed release.

Which wasn't to say that he suddenly became celibate, but sex didn't consume him, night and day, as it had at other points in his life. Now, however, he felt the old urges and desires beginning to return. Torchwood still sucked the life out of him most days, but ever since he'd fallen on top of and hired Ianto Jones, Jack had been hard for him. Literally.

What was strange was that Ianto had picked up on it immediately, expertly deflected it, and somehow got Jack to talk about it without judging him whatsoever—about his attraction to almost everyone he'd met, his struggles with needing so much sex, his numerous kinks, even his burning desire for Ianto. And Ianto had counseled him through it, without condemning him, rejecting him, or—unfortunately—touching him even once.

Jack wondered if the young man had gone through his own struggles with sex and was passing on what he'd learned, or if he was really that intuitive and should be a professional therapist instead of a secret agent slash personal assistant. And while he appreciated it at times, there were other times when Jack wanted nothing more than to shut the man up by taking Ianto's cock in his mouth until the Welshman shouted his name and came hard on his tongue.

He thought about ending their curious but calming conversations, about going out on the pull again every night, coming in sore and exhausted the next day, full of shame and hatred. And then he thought about Ianto Jones in a pin-stripe suit and that silken voice talking him down from the ledge, and he knew he needed Ianto more than he needed empty, anonymous sex.

Though maybe if he played things right, he could tumble his sex therapist into bed and solve all his problems at once.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

III.

"Ianto?" Jack called into the Hub. "Ianto!"

The Welshman appeared almost immediately at the door. "You hollered?"

Jack frowned. "I called, I didn't holler."

"Bellowed, perhaps?" Ianto suggested. "Thundered? Roared?"

Jack waved him off. "I requested your presence. I need some money."

"Of course," said Ianto, nodding with a hint of the smirk he'd worn when he'd first taken complete control of Jack's finances. Jack still wasn't sure how it had happened or why, but Ianto had been hiding better computer skills than any of them had suspected, and he'd somehow found each and every one of Jack's accounts, even the secret ones. And then he'd calmly informed Jack late one night that he'd stolen them all, assuring him that should he need any funds, he need simply ask.

Jack hating asking for what was his.

"How much, sir?" asked Ianto. Jack left his desk and stopped before Ianto, crowding him a bit, hoping to intimidate. He should have known it was pointless. They were beyond that now, with Ianto having gained way too much control of the situation between them, but he still had to try. Besides, he liked being close to Ianto; the man smelled good, and those sideburns…

"All of it?" Jack suggested coyly, leaning closer. He thought he saw a flicker of doubt, or perhaps something else, in Ianto's eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Ianto murmured. "How much do you need?"

"Enough for a high quality rentboy," Jack replied cheerfully as he stepped back, hoping it would elicit a response. It did. Ianto's head whipped up, his eyes so wide that Jack laughed. Which in turn infuriated Ianto even more; he pulled out his wallet, threw two fifty pound notes on the desk, and stormed out.

Jack picked up the money, wondering what he should do with it. See a movie, treat himself to a nice dinner, buy some new shirts? Maybe he'd head to Charles Street, troll the clubs, and find a willing body to lose himself in, like he'd told Ianto.

Only he didn't really want to, he'd only said it to try and get a reaction from Ianto. He hated having no control over his money and savored the small victories when it came to his finances, even if they were petty. He needed Ianto Jones as he was the only one who knew where the accounts were, but if Jack was honest with himself, he wanted Ianto Jones more than any amount of money.

He tucked the notes into his wallet and headed into the Hub. Ianto certainly hadn't been happy about Jack's rentboy comment, and still looked steamed, pounding away at his keyboard in apparent frustration. Jack grinned to himself as a thought occurred to him. Maybe if he asked nicely, Ianto would actually agree to have dinner with him.

He had the money, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

IV.

Sometimes Jack wondered how it had happened, how he had _let_ it happen. It wasn't as if he hadn't been down this road before, half a dozen times. He should have known better, to turn the other way, walk out the door, and run as fast as he could. Drugs were not the answer, they never had been, never would be. Then again, he was pretty sure no one else in the entire universe died and came back to life on a regular basis, on top of running a secret organization that defended the earth from aliens. If he needed a vice, maybe he could be forgiven. It wasn't as if drugs would kill him—not for good, anyway. Not even the high-end alien dust he'd done in the Time Agency.

Besides, he never let it interfere with work. Well, maybe once or twice when he'd been too high to take an unexpected Weevil call, but usually he metabolized his hits so fast he was good to go faster than if he'd been mortal and had his stomach pumped. And death by overdose was always relatively quick, even if it left him craving peanut butter when he revived.

When he'd found Ianto shooting up one night after Lisa's death, of course he'd joined him. Jack had still been trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong that night as well, and the thought of forgetting it all for a few hours sounded perfect. Ianto had scored some exceptionally good stuff, though, and Jack quickly found himself wanting more.

Which was how Ianto came to be his dealer, of a sort. Really, Ianto had a source—which Jack suspected was alien but didn't want to know and wasn't going to ask—and when Jack needed something, Ianto got it. He said it was part of his PA duties. Sometimes Jack asked, sometimes Ianto seemed to know exactly when he needed it and had it ready. If he usually bought some extra for himself and they got high together, all the better.

And maybe, just maybe, they would end up in bed together, because Jack knew it would be spectacular, high or not. He only hoped he remembered.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

V.

The energy flowed through him, calming him, relaxing him, healing him of pain and grief. It wasn't the same energy that brought him back to life, but something different. Something bursting with the colors of the rainbow, a warmth that resonated down the center of his body whenever Ianto laid his slim hands over those key points where the energy swirled within.

It had been a happy accident, discovering that his newest employee had such training, and a gift for it as well. Jack had been injured and nursing a terrible headache when Ianto had come into the office and frowned, as if immediately sensing something was wrong. He'd run his hands over Jack, never touching, though it had felt like dozens of tiny fingers massaging him at once. Ianto had focused on Jack's neck, murmuring about a blockage in communication and telling Jack he would try to clear it as best as he could. It had been the most relaxed Jack had felt in years, and he had very nearly told Ianto his secret when the man had finished.

Since then, Ianto had practiced his energy healing on Jack three more times, to the point where Jack had now sought him out after being killed by a Weevil. His body had healed itself, but Ianto could heal his soul.

Jack knew the theory behind it, had read about chakras and meridians and yoga, and though he might have once scoffed, now he could say without a doubt that whatever Ianto did was real. It worked. And whenever Ianto was finished, Jack found himself desperately wanting the man. They flirted quite often, but energy healing felt more intimate than their verbal banter, and Jack wanted more. Physically and spiritually.

As Ianto's left hand rested above his groin, channeling energy into his sacral chakra, Jack realized he _needed_ more. Ianto was definitely teasing him, practically seducing him, and this time there would be no excuses.

And with the energy flowing between them, it would be amazing.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

VI.

Christ, he hated this. And loved it. The wait, the nerves, the anticipation. The highs, the lows. Winning, losing. There were worse vices than gambling, he supposed, but sometimes Jack wished he'd taken up smoking instead. Light a fag, inhale, exhale, done.

Then again, he had an incredible bookie who had almost doubled his money. There had been that one major loss when Ianto had been on suspension, but the Welshman been mourning his dead girlfriend, and Jack had been more than willing to overlook the cost. What was ten thousand pounds when he had every confidence Ianto would get it back for him?

Jack loved watching Ianto work. Never mind that he had to turn a blind eye to the fact that one of his employees was working the alien gambling circuit in an illegal underground pub, because Ianto was _brilliant_. At everything—at working the room, running the numbers, playing the game. All of it. Booking let Ianto use his gift without gambling anyone's life. And he loved it too, Jack could tell. Ianto Jones was a conman at heart. How else had he managed to sneak his half-converted lover into the Hub and keep her secret for so long?

Sometimes Jack wondered if his obsession was about the money or about Ianto. It wasn't as if he needed the money, and there were better highs than winning a spot of cash, but there was something incredibly sexy about Ianto Jones sipping a martini as he worked, confident and assertive. Something that Jack found almost irresistible. He needed Ianto far more than he needed the money they won.

Sometimes Jack wondered if Ianto was playing with him as much as he was playing with the money, seducing Jack with every raise of that eyebrow, every quirk of those lips, every twist of those hips. And he wished the game would end soon, because tumbling Ianto into bed would be a win for them both.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

VII

Ianto Jones looked good in jeans and a leather jacket; he looked great in a pin-striped suit. Yet to Jack, he looked even better in a white chef's jacket, standing at the counter with a sharp knife flashing in the light. It wasn't just the jacket, though Jack had to admit that if Ianto put on a chef's hat he'd probably make a mess in his pants; it was rather the entire package. The jacket pulling tight against lean arms; the precise flick of a wrist; and more than anything the air of casual confidence Ianto embodied as he moved with complete dedication to the task at hand.

Ianto knew his way around a kitchen, and it was damn sexy. He wasn't faking it either, because the finished products were exquisite. Jack had never eaten better in his life. From grilled pork tenderloin with roasted potatoes that almost melted in his mouth, to the best butter chicken this side of Mumbai, Ianto Jones could cook. And bake. Jesus, the dessert sins he'd served Jack over the last several months. Jack didn't usually gain weight, given how much running (and dying) he did in the line of duty, but Welsh cakes, chocolate tortes, and apple crisps tended to settle on a man's waist no matter how many aliens he chased in a week.

Tonight it was mushroom risotto. Garlic and onion cooked in butter, champagne and rice and parmesan, with sautéed porcinis and creminis, a splash of truffle oil, and fresh basil added at the end. It was positively immoral in its rich creaminess. Paired with a delectable Pinot Noir and fresh ciabatta, Jack was in culinary heaven. He couldn't imagine being anywhere else with anybody else eating anything better. It was spectacular.

Watching Ianto as he sat down across from him was the only thing that could have possibly topped the dish itself. It was as if he were making love to each bite of the creamy rice, chewing slowly and savoring it. He picked up his wine glass with slim fingers, laid it against pink lips and sipped slowly, rolling it around his tongue. And after every taste of risottoor sip of wine, he smiled, and that was the best part of all. Because Ianto Jones never smiled enough.

Jack loved the coat. He loved Ianto's coffee. He loved the braised lamb shoulder and cawl and lavercakes with cockles and pudding and tea, as well a cold bottle of Brains with homemade pizza, spicy enchiladas with fresh margaritas, or the best fish and chips in Wales.

But it was the look on Ianto's face that Jack loved even more. The pride in a job well done and the joy of a well-loved pastime, tempered with defiance and a "yes, I can cook, what of it?" attitude, and seasoned with a hint of uncertainty and a dash of sadness that tugged Jack's heartstrings every time. Ianto had learned to cook at his grandmother's knee, finding refuge from a difficult childhood in the kitchen, but his father had bullied him into other pursuits. Ianto had given up his passion for cooking completely after his grandmother had died, only picking it up again after he'd run to London following his father's death.

Lisa had encouraged him to cook again, though Ianto rarely talked about her and their time together, her death still a raw hurt waiting to heal. Jack felt a strange sense of pride in being able to get Ianto back into the kitchen. The Welshman been devastated in the weeks following Lisa's death, refusing to even eat takeaway. When Jack had insisted on cooking Ianto a real meal three weeks into his suspension, Ianto had watched in shock until he'd jumped up with a curse, pushed Jack from the kitchen, and finished Jack's pathetic attempt at spaghetti Bolognese with a roll of his eyes.

Cooking had brought Ianto back from the edge, and eating those meals had brought them together. In the epicurean sense, at least. And if cooking had filled an empty place in Ianto's life, the time they spent enjoying it had done the same for Jack. It wasn't only the gourmet meals Jack enjoyed on a regular basis; it was the quiet companionship he hadn't even realized he needed.

Salted caramel crème brule was an added bonus. After a long day of chasing Weevils and running down Blowfish, sometimes Jack needed comfort food as much as the next person.

And Ianto Jones was quickly becoming his best source of comfort.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note:  
This is a work of fiction, and not my usual. It is completely tongue-in-cheek, at least until the end. There are references to multiple addictions in these drabbles. Please heed the following tags: sex, drugs, gambling, dom/sub. No offense is meant and I hope none will be taken. I hope you will read it as it was meant to be read: with a laugh, a smile, a slightly uncomfortable frown, perhaps a sad sigh, and maybe an occasional "Awww!"

* * *

VIII.  
 _by the amazing Taamar_

It wasn't what Jack had expected of Ianto Jones, and honestly, it was fucked up beyond belief, but somehow it was perfect, too. Whatever was between them the rest of the time—the guilt, the blame, the anger, the betrayal—it was all gone in the moments like this when Jack was on his knees, blindfolded and cuffed, with the rhythmic strike of a flogger across his upper back forcing him to retreat deep into himself.

They were in the basement room where Lisa had been kept, which meant Ianto was working out his anger over Jack's callous execution of the Cyberman that had been all Ianto had left of Lisa. Different scenarios meant different things. Cuffs meant Ianto was angry with Jack specifically, while rope meant he was dealing with the aftermath of the cannibals. That usually meant a gag as well, though only the cloth one, and not the ball gag he used when he really wanted Jack to stay quiet. Jack hadn't figured out what the St. Andrews cross meant, but honestly he was happier not knowing; Ianto had a bit of a dark streak, and while it was serving Jack well, it was best not to delve too deep.

It wasn't all bondage and beatings, either. Ianto was as thorough and clever in this as in everything else, and Jack's punishments ranged from being forced to don his great coat (and nothing else) and run up and down the stairs from the archive room to his office after Ianto had caned the bottoms of his feet, all the while flicking a whip at his heels whenever he tried to slow his pace, to curling up silently on the ground as a footrest while Ianto had coffee and read aloud from a collection of erotic poetry, his accent turning each filthy verse into liquid desire that left Jack wanting Ianto with such intensity that he—he, Jack Harkness of a thousand lovers of all genders and species—was left burning with need.

Not that it was sexual, per se. There was an aspect of sex to it, of course; they would get to that later. That changed too, from angry and rough to relentless to almost tender. That was Jack's favorite, as though Ianto had almost forgiven him. Almost. But sex never happened outside of these encounters. Once they were finished, it was back to their façade of frighteningly competent admin officer and his demanding but distant boss. As soon as the collar went on, though—the collar of blue leather so dark it was almost black, with gleaming silver D rings and a buckle with a small padlock—Jack belonged to Ianto, to bear the brunt of his emotions.

Jack didn't do it just for Ianto. Once, while Jack had been strapped to the side table in the conference room (everything on it swept aside to be replaced at Jack's expense before the rest of the team commented on its absence) with Ianto touching candle flame to his reddened back (Canary Wharf, Jack had seen the scars on Ianto's own back), Ianto had asked quietly why Jack did this.

"Because I deserve to suffer," Jack had said. That was the crux of it. Over his long life, Jack had done so many things he was ashamed of, that he needed this—needed the pain, the humiliation, the abrogation of control.

He needed Ianto Jones.

* * *

Author's Note #2:  
As you hopefully noted at the beginning, this scene was written by my amazing friend and beta, Taamar! She stepped up once again and saved me when I really had nothing for this scenario (just as she did for the 'Random Shoes' drabble in 'Cocktail Hour') All credit is hers and hers alone and I thank her so much for writing this! Please go read her stories and shower her in reviews!

The next drabble is not quite as dark. I'm going for balance if you haven't noticed. Two more - thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

IX.

Jack needed to go to the bathroom. Which meant he needed Ianto. Not because he got off on having a piss with the other man around, but because thanks to a tech retrieval gone dramatically wrong, Jack and Ianto were now linked together. If one of them moved more than three meters from the other, they were both knocked unconscious by a severe electrical shock administered by the small metallic implants in their forearm.

Tosh was working on the device that had connected them, but she hadn't had any luck disabling it, and had in fact knocked them out twice so far. Owen had found it hilarious, until Jack had set him to cleaning out every cell in the place to get him the hell away from Ianto, who was furious to the point of possible violence, though Jack wasn't sure if the Welshman's ire was directed more at him or at Owen. Gwen was helping Tosh as best as she could. She'd also tried to make Ianto some chamomile tea. Jack had never seen a more disgusted look on the Welshman's face and, after watching him pour it into the basin when her back was turned, had invited Ianto up to his office for a beer instead.

Really, being connected wouldn't have been so bad, if they'd been on more comfortable terms. Ianto had been back from his suspension for just over a month, but it had been a rough return in more ways than one, from the nightmarish trip to the countryside to the debacle at the Ferret a week ago (which had ended rather well back at Ianto's flat, all things considered.) Jack wished things were better between them, but he knew that with their history there probably wasn't much chance of anything happening, and sleeping together had actually made it worse. They'd barely finished their drink before Ianto had fled back to the Hub.

"Ianto!" he called as he left his office. Ianto was at his computer talking with Tosh and Gwen and turned when he heard Jack's voice.

"Yes, sir?" he replied. Jack jerked his head to the right.

"Nature calls, let's go."

Ianto's eyes went impossibly wide, and Jack rolled his own at the man's look of panic. "I need to pee, Ianto. That's all."

"Right," he said. "And since we don't want you falling face first into the loo when we're both electrocuted, I suppose I'd better wait outside, twiddling my thumbs." He stood with a sigh and followed Jack toward the bathroom, ignoring the girls behind them. Jack wasn't sure if they were giggling or feeling bad for them yet.

"I really am sorry about this," Jack said as they walked. Ianto cocked an eyebrow.

"Everyone needs to relieve themselves, sir," he said, and Jack grinned.

"True, and in more ways than one." He winked, and this time Ianto rolled his eyes. "But I meant about this whole situation, being connected. Tosh will fix it before we have to figure something out for the night."

Ianto's eyes slipped closed. "God, I hadn't even thought about that. I'd have to sleep…I don't know…at your desk or something."

"Not an option," Jack replied firmly. "If we're still hooked up, you can have my bed, and I'll keep working. I don't need as much sleep."

"It's your bed," Ianto argued.

"And it's yours for tonight if you need it," Jack tossed back. "I won't even joke about sharing it."

For the first time in several hours, Ianto smiled. "I appreciate your restraint."

Jack grinned back, feeling some of the tension between them dissipate with the banter. "Write it down, it doesn't happen often."

Jack used the loo while Ianto stood outside the door, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't move when Jack came out, and Jack gave him a curious look.

"What's it for?" Ianto asked. "The device we found? What's the point of connecting people like this?"

"Could be any number of reasons," Jack replied, leaning against the opposite wall. "Usually these sorts of things were used for keeping track of multiple prisoners during transport, but I've seen them sold in sex shops as well."

"Sex shops?" Ianto asked, his eyebrows almost climbing off his forehead. "What kind of sex shops would sell alien tech here in Wales?"

"Didn't say it was in Wales," Jack pointed out. Ianto ducked his head, as if trying to figure out exactly what Jack meant, or perhaps trying not to.

"Again, what's the point? If someone's looking for some fun, why something that connects them like this?" He shook his arm at Jack. "Handcuffs are easier, come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and don't try to kill you."

"All good and true," Jack agreed. "But I'd guess it was used as an element of danger—a game, especially out in public." Jack shook his head. "Or maybe dom/sub stuff, I don't really know. I prefer my partners free and willing."

"And awake?" Ianto asked dryly. "Not unconscious due to electrical stimulation?

"Exactly!" Jack exclaimed. "Not much fun being naked with someone who can't participate on their own, stimulated or not."

"Hm." Ianto was eyeing him in a way that suddenly made Jack's trousers tighter.

"Are there different settings?" Ianto asked. "One for prisoners, one for sex, that sort of thing?"

"Maybe," said Jack, crossing his legs at the ankles as Ianto moved closer. "I've never used anything like this, but I suppose it's possible."

"So if a prisoner tried to escape, it stuns them," Ianto said, taking another step closer. "What if two people were using it for fun? Maybe it works differently?"

Jack frowned, trying to follow Ianto's line of thinking. Before he could come up with anything, Ianto was right in front of him, crowding Jack's personal space.

"Maybe if you're bad, it punishes you, but if you're good, it rewards you," Ianto said softly, blue eyes bright. Jack's heart was hammering and he knew he should have a clever comeback, but he didn't. All he could think about were Ianto's lips, right there, so close yet so far.

"Maybe," he managed, and Ianto smirked. Jack's eyes widened; yes, the Welshman was definitely smirking, and damn if it wasn't the sexiest thing Jack had ever seen.

"We should test the theory," Ianto murmured.

"Yeah," said Jack, completely incoherent. He had just enough rational thought left to close his eyes as Ianto leaned forward. Ianto was going to kiss him. Again. Like in the SUV last week.

They came together slowly but passionately, tongues slipping easily past lips to explore. And as he enjoyed the taste and feel of Ianto Jones once again, Jack was hit with a sudden, powerful jolt of…something. Not electricity, but close. Like a focused beam of lust, concentrated in his groin, brilliant and hot and so intense he almost came in his pants. He instinctively gasped and pulled away, banging his head on the wall behind him. Opening his eyes, he found Ianto breathing hard and staring at him, his mouth hanging open until that filthy grin returned.

"Bunker, now," he whispered, and turned to leave. Jack had no choice but to follow him, not if he wanted to stay conscious.

And truth be told, if one kiss brought that kind of reaction and reward, Jack needed more. He couldn't wait to see how good it could be once they were naked and rolling around his bed.

And if Ianto wanted handcuffs too, Jack had plenty to choose from.

* * *

Author's Note:  
One more! And it's the 'real' one. It needs a few more days, though. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

X.

"So what's going on with you and Ianto anyway?" Owen asked as he sat in Jack's office. Jack was nursing a scotch, and though he felt bad drinking it in front of Owen, he needed it, and Owen would have to get used to it. Martha had left the day before, and on top of adjusting to Owen's new life status—or lack of it—it had been a particularly long and stressful day of paperwork, Weevils, and dealing with the fallout from Henry Parker's death.

Jack raised an eyebrow, hoping it was enough to put Owen off, knowing it probably wasn't.

"Don't give me that," Owen said, confirming Jack's fear. "You're shagging again."

"Old news, so why ask now?" asked Jack.

"Because I'm morbidly curious, I suppose," Owen replied. "And because it turned out so well last time, didn't it? What makes you think this time will be any better?"

Jack set down his drink, slightly annoyed by Owen's statement even if it were true. "First of all, what do you mean by last time?"

Owen didn't even bother to look nervous. "You were shagging before you ran off, weren't you?"

"So if you have all the answers, why all the questions?" Jack asked.

Owen snorted, though how that was possible when he technically couldn't breathe was beyond Jack. He picked up his drink and watched Owen over the rim of the glass.

"Because something's different this time. Right before you left, I said some pretty low things to Ianto—"

"I know," Jack replied, letting his displeasure come through clearly. Owen shook his head.

"Of course you do, did he tell you?"

"He didn't have to. I could see as soon as I got back from the dance hall that something was wrong, and the CCTV confirmed it."

"Was it true?" Owen asked boldly. Jack blew out a long breath and shook his head.

"We're not talking about this," he said. "What happened that day is between you and him, not us."

"Humor me," replied Owen. "I'm dead, but I'm not dying."

Jack studied him for a long moment. "Then no, it wasn't true. It was casual and open, but I wouldn't have called it that."

Owen nodded. "He was furious when I said that," he said. "It didn't occur to me that you might actually be shagging back then. I thought he was only fantasizing about it for some sick reason."

"It was a cruel thing to say whether we were or not," Jack pointed out, ignoring the second half of Owen's statement. Owen shrugged, but the look on his face now was one of rare remorse.

"I was pissed off. He was so fucking righteous that night, claiming to know everything, refusing to open the Rift for you and Tosh."

"He was following orders," Jack murmured, and Owen sat back in his chair.

"I know. I fucked up when I called him that, I fucked up when I opened the Rift. And I'm sorry, because I know I was wrong—about all of it."

"Even the part-time shag?" Jack asked.

"At the time, it was a good dig," Owen replied.

"And then he shot you," Jack said. They'd all had a laugh about it when it was over, everyone except Ianto. Ianto had gone home without a word after turning in his gun, and Jack hadn't had a chance to talk to him about it before time started splintering and the team had opened the Rift once more to try and stop it. It wasn't until Jack was back from his trip with the Doctor that he and Ianto had said anything to one another about that day, and that had taken weeks.

Ianto had struggled with the decision to open the Rift for Jack and Tosh. He'd been through the Rift once, to save Jack in the Ferret, and had admitted he'd found it incredibly hard to stop Owen, knowing what was possible. But he had, because he knew the limitations of their technology, and he knew the consequences. Only then the team had been manipulated by Billis Manger into opening it completely, and Ianto had watched those consequences play out in horror. Jack rarely met someone who carried as much guilt and regret as he did, but Ianto was one of the few: guilt from surviving Canary Wharf, from failing Lisa, from betraying Jack, from not opening and then opening the Rift.

"He said it wasn't like that, that you needed him," Owen said, ignoring Jack as he gazed out into the Hub at the Rift Manipulator. "I thought he was completely delusional at that point." He met Jack's eyes. "And then you left."

"And then I left," Jack echoed.

"And he kept this place running, so maybe he meant it. But he had a hard time of it, you know," Owen said, nodding to himself. "Never said anything, never admitted anything ever happened between you two even after that kiss, but it was obvious he missed you in a way that was very different than the rest of us, even Gwen. And he was pissed off, too. Oh, the names he called you!" Owen laughed, but Jack cringed.

Jack knew Ianto had been upset with him. After the initial shock of his return, Ianto had shut him out, and it wasn't until Jack had poked and prodded him enough that the Welshman had finally let loose with every damning thing he could throw at Jack, starting with his abandonment of the team.

And Jack had accepted it all. It had been hard, knowing he'd hurt and disappointed Ianto so much. That night had been one of the darkest nights he'd experienced in years, even on the Valiant, and it had taken all his willpower to work through it and move on. To persevere because it mattered, because he wanted Ianto's forgiveness more than anything.

Ianto, on the other hand, had immediately become mired in guilt again for attacking Jack and demanding answers, but after several days of awkward silence, they'd attempted to talk, this time with real results. They'd come to a deeper understanding of one another, taken the first steps toward rebuilding trust, and Ianto had once again accepted Jack's offer of a date.

What had started out tentative and slow had quickly grown into more, however difficult it had been to navigate the murky waters those first few weeks back. Now Jack treasured what he had with Ianto, even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was. No, he knew exactly what it was, but he suspected Ianto was still too nervous and unsure to believe in it. That made Jack sad, but he tried every day to make Ianto believe that he was where he wanted to be. That he'd come back for Ianto.

Lost in his thoughts, Jack almost missed Owen's next statement.

"We all noticed the way you looked at him when you came back," Owen said. "Well, Tosh and I did, not sure about Gwen. She's still got stars in her eyes most of the time, I think. But you really did come back for him, didn't you?"

Jack grinned. "For all of you," he said.

Owen rolled his eyes. "You're not breaking my heart admitting you came back for him, you know."

"Why are we talking about this?" asked Jack in his typical blunt fashion. Again, he knew it wouldn't deflect Owen, but he had a reputation, after all. A token resistance would help him retain at least a part of that image.

"Because he said something to me the other day that got me thinking about it," Owen replied. "I was complaining about you two shagging again, and he said, 'It's not like that, me and Jack.'" His eyes grew distant. "He said a few other things as well, but for some reason your sex life is the thing I keep coming back to."

"I'm flattered," grinned Jack.

"Don't be," snapped Owen. "It's disgusting, but I'm trying to make a point here."

"Do tell." Jack waved his hand extravagantly, then leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, he's right, isn't it? It's not like it was before, casual and open. Even I can see it. So what is it?"

"None of your business?" Jack suggested.

"Probably not, except I'm dead so I'm going to live vicariously through others now. And believe it or not, I don't want to see Ianto get hurt."

Jack pretended to gasp. "I'm astounded!"

"He might deserve to get shot in the shoulder," Owen grumbled, "but you know how much he's gone through over the last year and a half. You saw him after Canary Wharf, after his girlfriend died. After those damn cannibals. And I saw him after you left. So what is it?"

Jack stared at him. He had no idea what to say. He was slightly shocked at Owen's protective streak, though he probably shouldn't have been. Still, it wasn't Owen's business, it was between Jack and Ianto.

"Look, are you sleeping with him for kinky office kicks or is there something more to it?"

"Door number two," Jack snapped.

"All right, good to know. Would you say you're dating? You know, dinner, movies, shows, that sort of thing?"

Jack smiled as he remembered his first official date with Ianto, a romantic dinner followed by a terrible movie that they'd ended up leaving early. He nodded.

"Spending the night together kind of dates?" Owen continued.

"Yes," said Jack.

"Are you living together?" Owen asked, and Jack laughed.

"Um, no. I think we both need our own space, considering we work together."

Owen was quiet for a moment. "But you shack up at Ianto's flat when you're not here? Wake up, eat breakfast, drive in to work together?"

"Pretty much," said Jack. For some reason, he was starting to feel uncomfortable, as if his parents were questioning his life choices and not his dead employee. "Owen, what's the point of all this?"

"I'm not sure anymore," Owen shrugged. "I'm just trying to get some gossip for the girls now."

"Owen!" Jack exclaimed, surging forward. "You know as well as I do how private Ianto is. You're not actually going to gossip about him after claiming to care about him, are you?"

"I guess not," Owen admitted, then grinned. "It sure got your goat, though."

Jack rolled his eyes. Owen leaned forward.

"So is this a lark, Jack? A few months of good sex and companionship and then you run off again? With someone else?"

Jack stood and started pacing. He was frustrated and tired of defending himself to others. "The sex is not just good, it's great, and no, it's not a passing fancy. It's…more serious than that."

"How serious?"

"Jesus, Owen! You're not my mother!"

"I'm the team doctor and it's my job to look out for the well-being of my team." He stood and came face to face with Jack. "That means if you're messing around and things go tits up and affect either you, Ianto, or the team, I need to know. And frankly, I don't want to see that happen to Ianto."

"Why am I the bad guy here?" Jack protested. "What if he calls it off in a month and leaves me high and dry?"

Owen snorted as he backed down and returned to his chair. "He's devoted to you, Jack. I knew it professionally, as well as personally, only I didn't actually think it was…romantically."

"Well, it is," Jack snapped. "Romantic, that is. And if he's devoted to me—which is probably the wrong word here, but we'll go with it— then I feel the same way. And not only professionally, because he runs the place and looks good doing it, and not just personally, because he's loyal and understanding, brave and strong. But romantically, like you said, because I came back to be with him. To get to know him, to go on dates and dinners and walks along the boardwalk with him. To sit on the roof gazing at the stars and talking all night with him, to fall asleep and wake up and have breakfast with him. And you know what? He's amazing, Owen. So I'm not going to hurt him. I need him."

Owen was literally gawping at him. "Christ, Jack, that was more than I _ever_ wanted to know."

"You asked!" Jack said, shaking a finger at him. "You pushed, so I pushed back. And it doesn't go back to the girls. It's no one's business but mine and Ianto's!"

The alarm on the cog door went off at that moment, and Ianto walked in carrying two bags of take away. He glanced around, saw Jack and Owen in Jack's office, and nodded. He didn't come to the office and interrupt, but set the food down by the sofa, hung up his coat, and headed toward his computer. Jack watched, thinking about what he'd said to Owen and trying not to regret it, but it was true, and sometimes he got tired of others seeing him as little more than a shallow playboy. He had his moments, his flings and flirtations, but this was more than that.

He needed Ianto. The Welshman grounded him in a way Jack hadn't even realized he'd been missing until one day he wasn't flying by the seat of his pants, thinking of only himself, terrified of the future. He was thinking about Ianto, because he cared about Ianto, and that allowed him to care about others as well. Not in the same way, of course, but it was as if allowing Ianto into his closed heart had opened the door for others as well.

Jack knew he would lose them all one day, and the thought scared him more than anything else in the world. Sometimes he questioned his decision to grow so close to people he knew would die, and probably soon, but it was worth it. Being with Ianto made it worth it.

Ianto accepted him unconditionally, all of him—his past and his future. He didn't claim to understand Jack, though Jack suspected that Ianto sometimes knew him better than he knew himself. Ianto believed in him and supported him, and Jack tried hard to do the same in return. Ianto made him want to be a better person.

They worked well together, and yes, the sex was fantastic, but it was simply _being_ with Ianto that Jack enjoyed, whether they were eating, sleeping, watching a movie, talking, or laughing. They actually laughed a fair amount when they were alone, finally able to shed the masks they wore to hide from the rest of the world. With Ianto, Jack didn't have to hide. He could laugh, he could cry (not that he did, not that much), he could be angry and forgiving, confused and elated. He could be himself, and he suspected he had seen Ianto in ways no one else had as well, even Lisa. And he loved that he was the only one.

In fact, he loved Ianto. He'd realized it only recently, when he was in Hell in particular, and a few times since. But it wasn't something he would ever admit out loud, because that made it far too real, the heartbreak they would experience one day too devastating to imagine—for both of them. But it was true, and he hoped Ianto knew without him saying that Jack cared deeply for him.

The sound of a throat being cleared brought Jack back to his office, where Owen was watching him with a look of both exasperation and concern, and perhaps a bit of sadness. The doctor shook his head. "It's almost kind of tragic, you know," he said conversationally. Jack let his head fall and sighed in frustration. Owen wouldn't let it go.

"What's that?"

"All those things you said…you'll never tell him, will you?" Owen stood up and stretched. "You should, and he should, but you won't, and he won't, and you'll both keep doing what you're doing until it's too late to say anything."

Jack was silent. Owen had never been more right.

"Make it mean something while you can, Jack," Owen said quietly. He jerked his head toward the door. "No time like the present, even if you have forever."

Jack watched him leave, thinking that sometimes they all underestimated Owen Harper. He had a hell of a heart to be able to say something like that, and for him to say it out loud meant even more to Jack. Because Owen was right: Jack had forever, but Ianto didn't.

Owen stopped and talked to Ianto for a moment, who looked puzzled by whatever the doctor said. Then Owen waved toward the office and left, leaving Jack alone with the Welshman. For a moment Ianto stared at the cog door, then he shut down his computer and moved back toward the sofa, where he began to unpack their food. Jack hurried out to stop him.

"Hey," he said softly as he came up behind Ianto. "Looks good."

"It's just our usual from Orsino's," Ianto replied with a shrug. Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto's waist from behind, laid his head on Ianto's shoulder.

"I wasn't talking about the food," he murmured. He could feel Ianto smile.

"Right," he said. "Flattery will get you nowhere, you know. I've already picked up dinner, and you know I'm a sure thing after a good meal."

Jack sighed at Ianto's attempt to sublimate with humor. He wasn't sure if Ianto used it as a defensive mechanism, or if he was genuinely playing around. Sometimes it was disappointing, because Jack meant what he said and did to show his affection. Maybe he needed to say it more.

"Let's go out," he said. "We spend too much time here."

Ianto turned around and eyed him in surprise. "That's because we work here. And I've already got food, why waste it?"

Jack shook his head and started packing it back up. "We won't waste it, we can share it tomorrow for lunch. Let me take you out."

"It's really not necessary," Ianto protested.

"It is, because I want to go out, and I want to go out with you."

"Jack," Ianto sighed, and Jack grinned at him, the food now packed up into two bags.

"Ianto," he teased in a sing-song voice as he moved past Ianto toward the small kitchen and put the food into the refrigerator.

"Did Owen say something to you?" Ianto asked quietly. Jack turned to him in surprise.

"Why, did he say something to you?" asked Jack, curious about their brief exchange before Owen had left.

Ianto studied him closely before replying. "Might have," he shrugged. "Didn't make much sense, though."

"Funny, I thought he had some remarkably good insight for a dead guy," Jack replied. He tugged Ianto's hand.

"Is that why we're going out?" Ianto asked. He pulled Jack to a stop. "Look, Jack, I don't want what other people say to affect our…us…what we do. It's none of their business, and they don't get it, so—"

Jack pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering to make sure Ianto didn't keep talking. "It's not like that, trust me. I want to take you out to dinner."

"When we have perfectly good food already?"

"Yes," Jack replied. "Because why stay here and eat when we can go out and enjoy ourselves? We deserve it. We're not shackled to Torchwood."

The corners of Ianto's lips quirked up. "Could've fooled me some days."

"This is not one of those days," Jack said. He ducked into his office and grabbed his coat, then hurried back to the sofa, where Ianto had hung his. He held it up for Ianto, who raised an eyebrow as he slid his arms into the sleeves. After a quick glance around the Hub, Jack typed a few commands into his wrist strap and brought the lights down. Then he turned toward the cog door. Ianto didn't follow.

"Are you sure this isn't about Owen?" he asked. Jack pulled a face.

"That's a disgusting thought, but no, it's really not." Although in some ways, it was. Owen had pointed out something Jack tried not to think about. He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to start sharing some of those things he always kept inside, before it was too late. "Look, it's been a rough few weeks around here. But through it all, you've been amazing. Right there, always listening, always ready. From Trettari to my time in Hell, the days we lost to Retcon and Owen's death, you have been so strong and supportive. I don't know what I would have done without you, and I don't know what I've done to deserve someone like you in my life."

He stepped forward and took Ianto's hand. The Welshman's eyes were wide, his face colored with a combination of surprise and confusion and doubt. Jack hated the doubt most of all and wanted to make it go away.

"So I want to take you out, and if you don't mind me inviting myself back to yours, I want to spend the night together and wake up together and maybe even take the day off together." He paused. "Rift willing."

"Rift willing," Ianto echoed. He cleared he throat. "That sounds…great, Jack. It really does. But…" He raised an eyebrow, and Jack saw the doubt tucked away, at least for now, replaced by playful affection. "There will be sex too, right?"

"Of course," Jack laughed. "In fact, how about…" He leaned forward to whisper something deliciously filthy into Ianto's ear and was rewarded with an extremely hot kiss that was hard to break away from.

"We could skip dinner and go straight to mine for dessert," Ianto murmured. Jack kissed him again and led him through the cog door.

"Nope, we're going out. Let's go be normal."

Ianto rolled his eyes but smiled as the lift ascended toward the tourism office. "Normal's overrated, you know."

"Not for me," Jack replied with a soft smile. "And never with you."

"Are you sure you're Jack Harkness and not possessed by an alien?" Ianto asked lightly. He moved around the tourist office, making sure everything was closed and turned off. They stepped out onto the Quay, and he locked the door behind him before they set off.

"I'm sure," Jack replied. "That feels different. This feels good." He took Ianto's hand. The Welshman smiled at him, ducking his head and looking away.

"You're a little bit mad, you know."

"And you like it," Jack teased. Ianto nodded.

"Free meal, amazing sex—what's not to like?" he asked, then turned to Jack, abruptly more serious. "Owen figured it out, didn't he?"

Jack gave him a sideways look, once again wondering what Owen had said to Ianto. "Depends on what he figured out."

Ianto smiled privately and motioned them on. "Come on, let's go. I think we should be able to get a table at Ddraig Goch, since you're paying."

"Pub food?" Jack said. "Doesn't seem very romantic."

"Good thing we're not romantic then," Ianto laughed. "And it's actually a very nice Japanese restaurant."

"Sounds perfect," said Jack. "And romantic."

Ianto did not respond, and they walked in comfortable silence for a long moment.

"He said he was wrong," Ianto said, out of the blue. "Owen. That's all he said, that he was wrong."

Jack smiled to himself. It was probably as close to an apology as either one of them would ever have from the good doctor, but he would take it. "He often is," Jack replied. Ianto hummed noncommittally, and Jack could almost sense the doubt in his thoughts. "And he was definitely wrong about us."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "What did you tell him?"

"The truth: that it was none of his business." Ianto nodded, as if relieved, but Jack continued. "And that I came back for you, because I want you, and I need you. And sitting around the Hub eating take away is not how I want to show you that."

He got exactly the reaction he was expecting: Ianto stopped and stared at him, his eyes wide and mouth slack, so many emotions shining through his face that he quickly ducked his head. Then he cleared his throat and met Jack's nervous gaze.

"Barking mad," he said, but the look on his face as he leaned over and kissed Jack on the lips betrayed his light words. "Thank you."

Jack kissed him back, making sure to take a bit longer. "Thank you." He stepped back and held out his hand again. If Ianto could deflect with humor, so could he. "And now that the sappy sentimental stuff is over, can we go eat already?"

Ianto took his hand and they continued on their way. "Let's go be normal."

"Someone told me normal's overated," Jack replied with a grin. Ianto shook his head.

"Not for me," he said, using Jack's words from earlier. "And never with you."

They shared another smile, a laugh, and Jack thought that maybe, at that moment, Ianto believed him. Believed that Jack wanted to be there, be together, for as long as they had, because he cared.

Because he needed Ianto Jones.

* * *

Author's Note:

The end! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this last scene, the real one amongst the what-ifs. And thank you to Taamar for giving me the poke I needed at the end to wrap it up. Onto the next story!


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